#Scots #BalladesYRhymes
Down by yon garden green, Sae merrily as she gaes; She has twa weel-made feet, And she trips upon her taes. She has twa weel-made feet;
In torrid heats of late July, In March, beneath the bitter bise… He book-hunts while the loungers f… He book-hunts, though December fr… In breeches baggy at the knees,
I went to the mill, but the miller… I sat me down, and cried ochone! To think on the days that are past… Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain… Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
The wail of Moschus on the mounta… The Muses heard, and loved it lon… They heard the hollows of the hill… They heard the weeping water’s ove… They winged the sacred strain—the…
Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You’ll burn your fingers at the fe… And howl like other folks that fry… All evil folks that love a lie!
Now the light of the sun, in the n… Shines, and their city is girt wit… And deep is the shade of the woods… Sings of the sea, and is sweet fro… Green is their garden and orchard,…
Oh, where are the endless Romance… Our grandmothers used to adore? The Knights with their helms and… Their shields and the favours they… And the Monks with their magical…
Long life hath taught me many thin… That lukewarm loves for men who di… Weak wine of liking let them mix a… Not Love, that stings the soul wi… Happy, who wears his love-bonds li…
Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better staid a… For Mitchell o Winfield he is dea… And my son Johnie is prisner tane… With my fa ding diddle, la la dew…
Some speak of lords, some speak of… And sic like men of high degree; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Some time call’d Laird of Gilnock… The king he writes a loving letter…
In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to… But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely. For thro his shoulder he put a bor…
As, to the pipe, with rhythmic fee… In windings of some old-world danc… The smiling couples cross and meet… Join hands, and then in line advan… So, to these fair old tunes of Fr…
(Sidero, the stepmother of Tyro,… At fierce Sidero’s word the thral… And shore the locks of Tyro,—like… They fell in golden harvest,—but f… The maiden shuddered in her pain a…
When Lent and Responsions are end… When May with fritillaries waits, When the flower of the chestnut is… When drags are at all of the gates (Those drags the philosopher 'slat…
‘Once Cagn was like a father, kin… But He was spoiled by fighting ma… He wars upon the lions in the wood… And breaks the Thunder-bird’s tre… But still we cry to Him,—'We are…